Neighbors
by Donofan
Summary: Michael gets a new neighbor, but will she help him or hurt him? Set after "Bad Breaks" and before the last two episodes.
1. Chapter 1

_To a spy, there's no such thing as a coincidence. Just as with late-night advertising, if it looks too good to be true, it probably is, and it also probably means someone's out to get you. You learn to mistrust anything that seems like it's being dropped into your lap, right when you need it. In my experience, anything dropped into your lap most likely has an explosive device attached._

The first indication he had that something was different was the hammering coming from outside his flat, very early one Friday morning. He opened his security door and cautiously poked his head out to scan the area. Nothing visible. He stepped out onto the metal landing, swiveling his head to locate the source of the construction, and found that it emanated from the downstairs apartment, former home to the drug dealer he'd ousted as a favor to his landlord, Oleg. The front door was closed, but he could see a dark shape in the window to the left of it.

Michael chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. This couldn't be a good development, any way he looked at it. At the very least, he had a new neighbor with the potential to be nosy and cramp his lifestyle, and at the very worst, it was an unfriendly trying to get close to him in a not-so-subtle way.

He turned back to his door and shut it behind him, leaning against it briefly as he thought; he'd talk to Oleg later to see what was going on.

**

"Hey, Mikey, what's with the new neighbor?" Sam jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the downstairs apartment, as he walked in. "Anything we need to be concerned about?"

"That's what I called you about, Sam. I need you to get some background on her…check her out…see if you can find out what her story is."

"Do I get a name, or am I supposed to come up with that, too?" Sam asked in exasperation.

"All Oleg could tell me is that she showed up two days ago in response to his bartending ad for Club Warehouse. She offered to work for tips and a place to live, but she didn't give him a name other than 'Zan.' He was fine with that, seeing as how he's getting an employee basically for free." (What he didn't mention was that Oleg had said, "I hope she's less trouble than the last person I rented to." He still apparently hadn't gotten over the door bomb.)

Sam rolled his eyes. "How the hell am I going to check into her…knock on her door and ask her to answer questions for the census? How about a license plate?"

The ex-spy shook his head. "She doesn't seem to have transportation, at least none that I've seen."

"You gotta give me a little more to go on here, Mikey. Even _my_ contacts have limits, you know."

Michael looked at him silently and then said, "I'll see if I can find out anything for you to go on. It's time for Mr. Friendly Neighbor to pay a visit."

**

He was cleaning out the Charger when a beat-up Hyundai pulled up by the gate to let out a tall woman with short-cropped dark hair. She opened the rear door, picked up some plastic grocery bags, shut it, and then bent down to peer into the passenger window. "Thanks again for the ride, Anna. I'll see you tonight." The driver waved as she pulled away.

She turned toward the gate and started through, flicking Michael a glance as she headed for the ground-floor flat. Her face, lean and drawn, with serious circles under her eyes, didn't change; she didn't even acknowledge she had seen him, just kept walking steadily toward her goal.

Michael walked around the car and headed toward her with his hand out. "Here, let me help you with those bags. I'm your upstairs neighbor, Michael. I've been meaning to introduce myself."

To his surprise, the woman, who was only a few inches shorter than he was, detoured around him and his outstretched hand, ignoring both his offer of help and his implicit request for an introduction. Reaching her door, she looked down for a moment, scanning the concrete step in front of it, and then turned the handle and walked in, shutting it firmly behind her.

A voice behind him spun him around: "That was smooth. I think she likes you, Michael." Fiona's eyes glittered a little maliciously as she scanned his dumbfounded face. "Maybe you're losing your touch. Have you ever considered that?"

He narrowed his eyes at her in warning on his way past her to the stairs. "I'm just trying to get a little information…like who she is and what she's doing here. She's an unknown quantity; I don't need a mystery neighbor right now."

She sauntered after him into his dim apartment. "How hard can that be? She doesn't even lock her door. Want me to search her place?"

He thought about it for a moment. "She's bartending tonight for Oleg until about 3. Sam can hit the club and see if he can learn anything from her for his source to go on; I'll tell him to call you if it looks like she's about to leave."

"Mikey, I'm gonna need a little money to throw around tonight. Mojitos don't come cheap, you know."

Michael sighed and peeled off some bills from a wad in his pocket, handing them over to Sam.

"Thanks. I'll put this to good use."

Michael gave him a look, and Fiona said sweetly, "Michael, you'd better let Oleg know you need to get Sam past the bouncers tonight. I don't think they allow tacky Hawaiian shirts and creased jeans at Club Warehouse. And I'd better join you when I'm done snooping. There's nothing more pathetic than an older man drinking alone at a dance club."

Sam glared in response, and then the trio turned to a discussion of Michael's next move with Carla.


	2. Chapter 2

A knock on the door late the next morning interrupted Michael's martial arts practice. He heard Sam and Fiona's voices and opened the door to reveal a daisy-fresh Fiona in a short, perky, yellow sundress and a very rumpled, hung-over Sam, who was clutching a paper bag. The contrast couldn't have been more stark. Sam groaned and pushed past him, heading for the fridge. "Got any beer? I need a little hair of the dog."

"What's with him?"

Fiona smirked. "I think he went overbudget on his mojito allowance." Continuing past him into the flat, she plopped herself down on the bed. She leaned back on her arms and crossed one leg casually over the other, swinging her sandal idly.

Sam let out a sigh of relief after he had swallowed half the bottle. "Ahhhh, that's better. I was doing all right last night until the guy next to me started buying me drinks. I think he was a little pissed when I left with Fiona."

"I went through your mystery woman's apartment," remarked Fiona. "I must say, either she's been watching the wrong home decorating shows or she's seriously paranoid. She's put security grates on all the windows, the front door has not one but two bars across it, and…" she paused. "Oh, yes, there's flour scattered inside and outside the front door. I barely noticed it in time."

Michael nodded. Flour was a quick and cheap way of telling if anyone had paid you a visit while you were out.

"You'd like her style, Michael," Fiona added slyly. "She has even less furniture than you do. I didn't think that was possible. There's nothing but a mat, a chair, a sleeping bag, and a few clothes."

He raised his eyebrows. "No personal items?"

Fiona shook her head. "Other than clothes and some toiletries…nothing. No ID, no pictures, no documents, no medicine bottles. Nothing with a name on it. Nothing with any text on it, for that matter. Even the clothes and toiletries are nothing special; just generic stuff from chain stores."

Sam said, "I didn't find out much more than Fiona, but I brought you a present." He opened the paper bag on the counter and carefully removed a dirty glass, holding it proudly by the rim.

"Thanks, but that's not the pattern I registered for," said Michael.

"Very funny. It's from the last mojito she made me. I have a buddy at Miami-Dade who might be able to get some prints off it, but I'm gonna have to grease the wheels, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do know what you mean." Michael resignedly handed him another bunch of bills. He could see already that this was shaping up to be one of those times when he turned into a human ATM.

Sam saluted him with the cash before he stuffed it into his pocket. "Other than the glass, I got zip. She's definitely had bartending experience." He smacked his lips at the memory. "Best mojitos I've had in a long time. But she's not your typical bartender. Oh, she's efficient and professional, but she never interacts with customers. I tried to start conversations, and she just walked away."

Fiona called from her perch on the bed, "Maybe you're losing your touch, too, Sam."

He ignored her. "The other bartenders mentioned it, too, when I asked about the new face behind the bar. One said the staff calls her 'Ms. Roboto': she knows her stuff, but she never smiles or interacts with anyone on more than a formal level."

"Oh, and here's an interesting little detail," broke in Fiona. "She's missing about half of her left little finger, and it looks fairly recent." She exchanged a knowing look with Michael.

"_Yubitsume_," said Michael.

Sam looked from one friend to the other in confusion. "What?"

"It's Japanese," said Michael. "Literally, it means 'finger shortening'. What it really means is Zan managed to get herself on the wrong side of the Yakuza, or more likely someone who's been watching too many mob movies. It's a ritual punishment for disappointing someone." He shoved himself away from the workbench where he'd been leaning as they talked. The whole situation was odd, and he didn't like odd. "See what you can get off the glass, Sam," he threw over his shoulder, as he went to resume his interrupted workout.

**

Later that day, Michael's cell rang as he sat in the Charger with Fiona, conducting surveillance on their latest job, which involved helping a lowly personal assistant being framed for her boss's embezzlement. Currently, they were parked in front of the boss's mistress's house, waiting to tail him.

"Yeah, Sam."

"My contact at Miami-Dade ran those prints for me and got a hit from the DOD. Your neighbor's name is Suzanna Hagen, she's 42, and she's a freelance computer systems security analyst. One of the top ones in the country, apparently."

"You mean, she's a hacker."

"Well, yeah, but she gets paid for it. I did a little research into her background. She was an emancipated minor when she was 16, worked her way through college, and then she disappeared for about five years. She got busted for a couple of well-known hacks, did a little federal time, and then got a doctorate in computer science at Berkeley. About 12 years ago, she started her own company based in Orlando, testing corporate security. I talked to a couple of former clients, you know, like I was checking her references, and they all highly recommended her. Apparently, she's some kinda whiz at breaching supposedly unbreachable systems. And she's trusted…she does so much consulting for the DOD that they gave her a top-level security clearance."

Michael took off his sunglasses and massaged the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Did you get anything else? Any other personal data?"

"Not much. Just that she was involved with a guy for fifteen years but never married. They had a kid."

"Was?" Michael repeated.

"Her…partner…I guess you'd call him…and the daughter died a couple of months ago in a car accident. The police report called it a hit and run. It doesn't look like she has any other family."

"Thanks, Sam. Let me know if you find out anything else."

"You know, Mikey, I had a brainstorm today. This Hagen lady could help you find out who put out the burn notice on you. Might be faster than waiting for Carla to come through."

Mindful that he was on an unsecure cell, Michael responded, "Ask her to hack my former employer? Does she strike you as the kind of person who would do that?"

"It's just a thought, Mikey. I didn't say it was a good one."

"Goodbye, Sam." He snapped the phone shut and stared thoughtfully out the front window.

"Problems?" Fiona asked from the passenger seat, where she had been snoozing.

"My neighbor's a professional hacker, and it looks like she's on the run from someone." He filled Fiona in on Sam's information.

"So she's hiding out. So what?" Fiona said. "It's not a crime," she added pointedly.

"What are the chances that a nationally known hacker with high-level government clearance would just _happen_ to end up living downstairs from me? And why bartend, when you have those kinds of skills?"

She rolled her head toward him a moment. "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, Michael. There's nothing that says coincidences can't happen."

"We both know 'coincidences' can be carefully arranged, Fi. I just want to make sure this isn't one of those times."

They both turned back to their job, Fiona closing her eyes again and Michael resuming his bored scrutiny of the boss's mistress's house.

**

During the surveillance, Michael had more than enough time to ponder the idea Sam had proposed. He knew it was possible, in theory, to penetrate some of the CIA's systems, at least those that weren't isolated from the outside, but he wondered how much useful information he might get from such a preemptive move. Disturb a hornets' nest, and you're bound to get stung, but he was also getting frustrated with the way Carla was playing him. Maybe it _was_ time for more direct action.

Suzanna's arrival might after all be a coincidence, he conceded, but it was an amazingly fortuitous one.

Two days later, he found an opportunity for a proposal, which didn't turn out quite the way he'd planned.


	3. Chapter 3

As Michael motored home from his mother's house—where he had managed to avert another visit to yet another therapist—he spotted a familiar figure stepping off the city bus ahead of him, laden with grocery bags. He drove past and then guided the Charger over to the sidewalk and popped out of the car, leaning on the roof of the car while "Zan" approached him, her footsteps slowing. "How about a ride?" he called. "I can't promise the A/C works, but it's faster than walking."

"No, thanks," she replied coolly. "It's not much farther." She looked worn out under her sunglasses, but she hefted the bags determinedly and walked past him.

Maybe it was time for more direct action here. He said quietly, "I think we can help each other. How about going somewhere for a drink so we can talk…Suzanna?"

The last word out of his mouth halted her in her tracks, and then she turned to face him. She was silent for a moment, her face tight with hated. "I said I would _never_ help you people!" she hissed, dropping her bags on the ground. "You couldn't persuade me with _this,_" she held up the hand with the missing digit, "and you took away the only people I cared about. There's nothing more you can do to hurt me!" As the echoes from her shout died away, she bent down, grabbed the bags, and strode off down the street toward the warehouse.

Michael remained next to his idling car, drumming his fingers on the roof. This was stickier than he had planned; he could see he had another potential client in the making. On the other hand, this was one client who might actually be able to give him something in return.

**

That night, Michael jerked out of his usual light sleep with the sense that something was not right. His watch informed him it was almost 4 a.m., but he could hear voices—rather loud voices—coming through his window. He was used to the usual bar background noises, and this didn't sound like that. He sat up, pulled on his shoes, and headed for his door, which he opened carefully. It was definitely some kind of disturbance, drunks maybe, which sometimes happened. But there seemed to be a woman involved. He couldn't distinguish the words, but his trained ear told him that the tones were escalating in fear. He walked silently down the staircase toward the parking area and moved through the shadows to the gate, which was propped open a few feet. Through the opening, silhouetted by the dim streetlight, he spotted four people, one of them his neighbor. She was surrounded by three very drunk, very obnoxious men, who barred her way. Every time she moved toward the gate and safety, one of them shoved her back toward the others, laughing loudly.

"Look, I've had a long shift, and I just want to go to bed!"

This brought even more laughter and a few lewd comments. "That last tip I gave you was so big, I should get to go with you!" one of the drunks yelled as he grabbed Suzanna's arm and twisted it, pulling her toward him. She struggled for a few seconds and then stamped as hard as she could on his instep. He fell back, howling in pain, and Suzanna took the advantage to kick him viciously in the kneecap, dropping him to the ground as the others watched, no longer laughing.

Michael admired her approach, but he could see there was little actual technique behind it, only sheer desperation and maybe a couple of sessions of basic self-defense training. He needed to get involved before it went any farther. He drifted out of the shadows and toward the group, stepping over the man still moaning on the ground. "I think it's time to call it a night," he said levelly, looking at the two other men swaying on their feet. The bigger one on his left bristled.

"Fuck off, man! This is none of your business. We're just having a little conversation here, aren't we, honey?" His friend laughed and tried to grab Suzanna again, but Michael stepped between them and blocked his hand.

"I said," he emphasized, "it's time to go." The drunk's eyes telegraphed the clumsy punch he threw, and Michael took a step to the side as it whipped past. He grabbed the wrist and continued its motion, turning his body and pulling the wrist and the attached arm with him and sending the drunk flying toward the wall, adding a none-too-gentle chop to the back of the neck to speed him along.

"Behind you!"

Michael ducked low and felt another body land on his back. Thrusting upwards, he dumped the bigger man onto his head on the concrete and then spun back toward the man Suzanna had kicked, who was still sitting woozily on the sidewalk. The third drunk raised his hands and slurred, "Dude, we were just trying to have some fun."

Michael just shook his head. He looked around for Suzanna; she had used his intervention as an opportunity to take off toward her own apartment. He followed her, pulling the gate shut behind him and snapping the padlock on the chain to lock it for the night. Walking quickly, he caught up to her at the door. "You all right?" he asked quietly.

She looked at him, her face unreadable in the dim light. "Yeah, sure," she said with a bitter laugh, "I'm great." She turned to go.

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. "If you ever need any help…" he began.

"Haven't you 'helped' enough?" she said through clenched teeth, yanking her arm away.

"Look, I don't know who you think I am, but I'd never seen you before you moved in. Now, why don't you come up to my place so we can talk." He paused and added, "You're going to have to trust me." Turning, he walked toward his stairs, stopping at the bottom to see if she was following. She stood in front of her door indecisively for almost a minute before she, too, came over. He led the way and held the door open, flicking on one light that cast a dim glow over the sparse furnishings. She stopped just inside the door and looked warily around; he expected a comment on his Early Industrial Minimalist décor, but she merely gave him an appraising glance and then walked over to sit gingerly on the duct-taped green chair.

Waiting for her to initiate conversation proved fruitless, as she merely sat impassively, staring at the wall in front of her.

"I understand you have a certain…expertise…." Michael began.

"How do you know who I am?" she asked dully. "I thought was careful…ditching my credit cards, not calling anyone I know, living in a new city with a new job…." her voice trailed off as she tried to figure out what error she'd made.

"It's what I do," said Michael. "My friends and I are good at information gathering. And we sometimes act on it…to help people."

She finally shifted her eyes to his. "There's that word again. What makes you think I need or want your help?"

"I don't, but why don't you tell me what's going on, and I'll see if there is something we can do for each other."

Suzanna pursed her lips while she analyzed his offer. Her green eyes searched his for a long time before she said slowly, "You already know the basics, obviously. You know what I do…did…for a living. About six months ago, the Department of Defense hired me to test a new system." She broke off, looking uncomfortable, and Michael assumed she was wondering how much she could reveal about classified information.

"You don't have to tell me specifics," he reassured her. "Just give me the basics."

She nodded gratefully. "They had developed a remote submersible guidance system, and there were security problems with it, which my report pointed out. Then a few weeks later, I got a visit at my office—in the parking garage, actually—from two men who had a 'proposal' for me: I would give them information about the new program, and they would pay me a lot of money. I told them to forget it, and they said they'd give me a while to think about it."

"They must've figured with your background that you were a good candidate for recruitment."

She nodded, staring again past his shoulder at the wall.

"And?" he prompted gently.

"They approached me again, this time at a conference in California. Same proposal, same answer. But this time they weren't so patient. One of them grabbed me and held me, and the other one used bolt cutters on my finger." Michael winced as she inspected the shortened digit. "I believe their last comment was, 'It's pretty hard to use a keyboard with one hand.' Then one of them threw a card with a phone number at me and told me to call it."

"What did the police say?"

"I didn't go to the police. The number was untraceable, so what was the point? I tried, but it was routed through too many points to follow." She paused, took a deep breath. "I called the number and told the person who answered that I wouldn't give up government secrets for any amount of money…that they were wasting their time."

"But…that wasn't the end of it."

"No. I hired security to watch out for any more attempts, and I was more careful about what I did, where I went. Then a couple of months ago…" she gulped and looked at the floor. "A couple of months ago, my partner, Alec, was driving my daughter home from soccer practice, and they…."

"You don't need to tell me," said Michael.

Suzanna raised her head to gaze at the wall, lost in her memories. "The police said it was probably a drunk driver. According to the witnesses, an Escalade ran them off the road, into a pond. The car rolled. They didn't make it out." She wrapped her arms around herself and sank back into the chair. "I got a call on my cell at the hospital. _At the hospital_. He said he was sorry, but he couldn't allow his employees to tell him no…." Leaning her head back and shutting her eyes, she finished, "After the funeral, I just…walked away. I think they were watching me, but I had the funeral home limo driver drop me in the middle of a busy mall parking lot. I bought new clothes, cut my hair, and I just…left…everything." The last word was a whisper.

Michael was silent for several minutes. He walked over to the workbench and leaned against it while he considered the story and his new client. It wasn't clear if this was a case of a hostile nation gathering defense information or industrial espionage. Either way, it didn't look good for Suzanna. She had information they wanted, and they weren't going to stop trying to get it.

"How did you end up in Miami?" he asked. When he didn't get a response, he turned around. His guest had fallen asleep, head tilted to one side, her wounded hand tucked protectively under her other arm. He walked over to the bed and pulled off his blanket (his _only_ blanket, he realized ruefully) and covered her as she slept. The gray light filtering through the windows told him it was pointless to go back to bed anyway. He changed and left to pick up some breakfast, locking the door carefully behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

When he returned a couple of hours later, Fiona was waiting for him on the top step of the stairs. Despite the early hour, she looked well-rested and fit. He noticed how the light made her skin glow and brought out the golden highlights in her hair. It was sometimes a struggle not to touch her whenever she was near.

She raised an eyebrow at him as he climbed toward her with the carryout. "You two must be on better terms now. You never bring me breakfast."

"I tried once, but you didn't stick around long enough to eat it."

Her eyes told him he'd scored a hit, which wasn't his intention, but she let it pass. "Did you talk to your new friend? Find out anything interesting?"

Michael squeezed in next to her on the step, shoulders touching, enjoying her nearness while he could. "I found out that we have a new client. We're going to expose the people who're after her to pass government secrets and who're willing to kill to make sure it happens." He gave Fiona the details from that early morning conversation.

"And is she going to help you?" Fiona didn't seem too disturbed by the tale, but you never could tell with her, Michael thought.

He ruffled the back of his hair with his free hand. "I—ah—never got around to asking."

"Uh HUH…." Fiona said knowingly.

"I'll ask Sam if he can find out if there have been any other incidents. If they tried to compromise her, they might have tried it with someone else on the project. They could've left a trail at some point." He stood up and entered the flat, Fiona following.

Suzanna was still asleep, but she woke up, groggy, when she heard them come in.

"I brought you some breakfast," Michael said, holding up the plastic bag. His client looked like she was about to bolt, and he wanted to talk to her while he had the opportunity. "This is my friend, Fiona. She knows about your situation."

Suzanna nodded warily, checking out Fiona, who said sincerely, "I'm so sorry, Suzanna."

"I can't stay long. I have to try to get some money today. I'm almost out of what I was able to get from the ATM before I ditched my card."

"How do you plan to do that?" Fiona asked with interest.

"I have an offshore account that I set up for international payments. The problem is, I poked around a little, and it looks like someone's watching for any activity on it. I used a public library terminal in Tampa for about half an hour, you know, to see what would happen. Three guys in suits showed up, so I bailed."

That concerned Michael no small amount. A response time like that usually meant some sort of government agency was involved.

"Banking isn't really my thing…." Suzanna shrugged. "I don't usually work with bank security systems. That's a whole other specialty area. To answer your question, I'm not sure what I'm going to do."

Fiona looked at Michael. "Why don't you give Barry a call while Suzanna and I get to know each other a little better?" She grabbed the food with one hand and towed Suzanna to the workbench with the other. Michael sighed and punched Barry's number to set up a meeting later.

**

"So, this Barry is a financial specialist?" Suzanna asked as they sat at a café table, waiting for him to arrive.

"Well, not exactly," Michael said delicately. "He's more of a…a…."

"An expediter," Fiona supplied helpfully. "And here comes our expediter now."

The trio watched as Barry wove his way through the restaurant's crowded patio, heading for their table. He eyed Michael and Fiona warily. From past experience, he knew that association with them rarely turned out in a positive way. He started to sink into his chair, when he noticed the third person. His jaw dropped.

"Suzanna Hagen!"

"Shhhhhh!" Michael shushed him hurriedly, scanning the area to see if anyone was paying attention to their table who shouldn't be. "You know her?"

"Who doesn't know Suzanna Hagen?" he asked in an excited whisper. "I mean," he amended, "who in my line of work doesn't know her? You're Athena!"

"Athena?" asked Fiona. "Like coming-out-of-Zeus's-head Athena?"

"Not anymore. That was a long time ago," Suzanna said dismissively.

"Yeah, I get it. You're white hat now. But you're still Athena! You pulled the Times Square thing, not to mention the KGB hack!" Barry said, undeterred.

"Barry, when you're done with the hero-worship, Athena here could use some assistance," Fiona broke in.

"Are you kidding? Anything!" Barry said enthusiastically. "Maybe you could show me some of your moves…."

"Not gonna to show you any moves," said Michael flatly.

Crestfallen, Barry said, "Right. So, why does Athena need someone like me?"

Over lunch, they explained Suzanna's (Athena's) cash-flow problem. Barry was not happy to hear it.

"I don't know….Those are heavy hitters if they're monitoring offshore accounts. That's government stuff. People like that tend to get annoyed when you do an end-around on them." He spotted Suzanna's defeated expression and added hastily, "But I'll see if there's some way I can snoop without setting off any alarms. What do you want, exactly?"

"What do I want? I want my life back," she said bitterly. Fiona eyed Michael over the table as Suzanna continued, "But I'd right now I'd settle for shifting that account to a local one."

They ended the gathering with Barry's fervent assurances that he would contact Michael as soon as he had information. They left soon after, first having to extract Suzanna from a Barry handshake that went on far too long and too obviously.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a few days before Barry called. Michael had discussed his burn notice and the possibility of having Suzanna "research" some information. She clearly didn't like the idea, but he hadn't expected her to, given her background. He realized he was essentially a stranger asking her to violate one of the most carefully guarded organizations in the world. But she'd give it some thought, she told him.

Meanwhile, she rebuffed any attempts made to engage her in conversation or any kind of social contact. She spent most of her time either barricaded in her apartment, working her shift, or sitting on the canal wall behind the warehouse, staring into the distance.

"I offered to take her shopping for some new clothes," said Fiona, a little miffed, "but she basically told me to get lost."

"What did you expect, Fi? She lost her 9-year-old daughter and lover a couple of months ago. That doesn't exactly put someone in the shopping mood."

His cell rang, which he answered after checking the number. "Yeah, Barry, what've you got?"

The voice on the other end sounded panicky: "I moved the money to the local account, but I'm pretty sure they know it's gone. I got a ping, even though I ran it through a ton of filters and remotes."Michael hung up and looked at Fiona. "They know she's in Miami. We'd better be ready."

**

In spite of the threat of exposure, Suzanna had made up her mind about Michael's request. She insisted on attempting the CIA breach as soon as possible, even though he tried to dissuade her.

"It has to be now, Michael; we don't have much time. I need to try as soon as possible," she told him, as they stood around the work table in his flat.

He sighed resignedly. "OK, what do you need?" As he listened to her computer and security parameters, he knew he'd have to involve Barry yet again. He was the only one who might be able to make the necessary arrangements. He placed the call.

When he hung up, he opened a kitchen drawer and took out a Glock, checking for a full magazine and a chambered round before shooting the slide and sticking the weapon in his waistband. Fiona helped herself to a Sig Sauer from a different drawer and did the same. Noticing Suzanna's expression, he flashed her a quick smile. "Just a precaution," he told her reassuringly.

**

As it turned out, Barry had everything Suzanna required…or at least, he knew how to borrow it. Just after 4 a.m., they met him on the University of Florida campus, where he led them into a nondescript building and down to the basement. He showed them proudly into a tiny room that contained exactly one chair, one router, and one computer terminal with two monitors.

"Ta daaah! Just for you, Athena. Fastest processor available, almost nine gigabytes per second access, and the best part is, it's mirroring as a library terminal across campus. That should slow them down and buy you some time when they figure out what you're doing."

"When?" asked Fiona.

"When," repeated Suzanna. "It's only a matter of time before someone notices the incursion."

"I rigged something for that, too," said Barry. "Check this out." He brought up the second monitor, which displayed a shot of the empty foyer they had just passed through upstairs.

"A wireless camera," said Suzanna admiringly. "Very nice!"

"I saved the best for last," Barry said, as he opened a small panel in the corner of the room. "Our exit. It's an access hatch to a tunnel that runs to another building nearby."

"This is perfect," Suzanna told him gratefully. Michael was fairly sure Barry was blushing under his deep tan.

"But there's one condition," Barry said, a little hesitantly.

"What's that?" asked Michael suspiciously.

"I get to stay and watch her work."

After a brief argument that Michael knew he was bound to lose, Suzanna and Barry fell into a discussion of methodology that was incomprehensible to the other two people in the room. Michael had always thought he knew something about computers, but he couldn't follow even the basics of what they proposed. Finally, Suzanna settled into her seat, looking regretfully at her missing finger. "I haven't tried anything like this since I lost it, so it'll be a learning experience."

It didn't seem to slow her down much, as she proceeded to bring up screen after screen of data, faster and faster, until even Barry was forced to become a silent observer. Michael and Fiona had given up long before and settled for keeping watch on the camera monitor.

After almost an hour of probing one portal after another, Suzanna stated quietly, "I'm in."

Barry looked at the screen. "They're monitoring you….They'll notice pretty soon. How much time?"

"I'd say…maybe half an hour, at the outside." She worked even more quickly, searching files, lists, names…anything that might provide a clue.

Michael's phone rang. "Carla! Hello! Isn't it a little past your bedtime?"

"What are you doing, Michael?" the voice snarled. "You're going to make some very important people very angry!"

"What do you mean? We're just about to catch the early show. In fact, it's starting right now. Bye-bye." He shut the phone and looked at Suzanna. "Hurry."

She nodded absently. After another quarter of an hour, she said slowly, "I think they just found the remote terminal. It won't take long to trace it back."

"Nope," said Barry nervously. "Only a few minutes."

"Just a little longer," muttered Suzanna. Her fingers were flying, her eyes darted over the screen as the data flashed by.

From his position by the second monitor, Michael said, "Fi, I want you and Barry out of here, NOW." When it looked like Fiona was going to argue, he added, "I need you outside to run interference if we need it."

She headed for the hatch without another word, with Barry glued to her heels.

At five minutes, Michael saw movement on the monitor and grabbed Suzanna by both arms. "Let's go!" he ordered.

"Just another minute!" she protested.

"In another minute, we'll both be dead," he replied. "Out!"

She took a few more seconds to wipe the screen and then let him pull her toward the hatch. Shutting it behind them, they ran hunched over down the low tunnel toward safety.


	6. Chapter 6

It was just getting light when they reached the warehouse. Suzanna had informed him apologetically in the car that she had gotten little useful information from the aborted attempt. She was strangely unfazed about the near-miss, Michael thought, but then, she was probably used to it. To be honest, he himself had found it more than a little stressful, forced to stand and do nothing but stare at a screen.

Fiona, who had been waiting for them to show up safely, left in her Saab for her apartment, and Susanna peeled off to get some sleep. But before they separated, she asked Michael if he would mind giving her a ride to a store later in the morning.

**

"This'll do fine," she said as he pulled into the parking lot of a Walgreen's. "I'll just be a couple of minutes," she promised as she climbed out of the car and entered the front door. Michael scanned the other cars and customers for signs of trouble, ever vigilant.

After five minutes, he got a little bored. After ten, he was concerned, and the feeling that something was off nagged at him. Just as he was about to get out and go in search of his client, he spotted her sprinting through the parking lot toward the car, two beefy-looking men not far behind. He gunned the engine and raced toward her, sliding to a stop so she could get in. Throwing the Charger into reverse, he accelerated backward until he reached the street at the end of the lot. He slammed the car into drive and laid a smoke trail toward the intersection.

"What the hell was that?!" he yelled at her as she tried to buckle her seatbelt.

"I took a detour to the bank and cashed out the account Barry set up," she informed him calmly. "I guess someone was waiting for me."

He shook his head in frustration. "And it never occurred to you that there might be someone waiting? You don't seem to understand, Suzanna: these people want you dead!"

She turned in her seat to look at him, her green eyes flat and distant. "Maybe it's you who doesn't understand, Michael," she said softly. "_I'm dead already._"


	7. Chapter 7

Late in the afternoon, Michael came down his stairs just as Fiona was walking up.

"Where are you off to?"

"Ma just called. She said she needs help with a light bulb." He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Want to come?"

She shuddered. "No, thanks. I'll wait for you here, and then maybe we can grab some dinner?"

Michael agreed and a minute later was backing the Charger out of the parking area.

Not long after, Suzanna's door opened. She stuck her head out and called to Fiona, "Hey, is Michael here, or was that his car I heard leaving?"

"He went over to his mother's house, but he'll be back soon. Why?"

"Do you think he'd mind if I used his shower? I need to get ready for work, but the hot water's out. Oleg said he can't get to it until tomorrow."

"Of course," said Fiona.

"Great, I'll get my stuff." A minute later, she came out with a paper bag and followed Fiona into Michael's flat.

"Here's a towel, if you want it," said Fiona. "I'll be outside if you need anything." She left, shutting the door behind her.

After about 15 minutes, Suzanna came back down the stairs in fresh clothes, bag in hand and the towel wrapped around her head. "Thanks, Fiona."

Fi watched her walk back to her own apartment, her mind on other things. When Michael pulled in not long after, with Sam right behind him, the trio went inside to talk privately.

"What exactly did your mother want, Michael?" asked Fiona.

"She wanted me to change a light bulb that she said was out of her reach, but what she really had in mind was setting me up with the granddaughter of one of her poker buddies. I managed to leave before she came over."

Fiona and Sam smirked. "Granddaughter?" said Fiona. "She must be getting desperate."

Michael's return smile faded as he noticed a white envelope with his name on it on the work bench. "What's this?"

Fiona shrugged. "I don't know…maybe Suzanna left it for you. She borrowed your shower after you left."

Ripping open the paper, Michael discovered a cashier's check for almost $200,000 and a handwritten note:

_Michael,_

_Below are two names I found that might get you farther finding out who burned you. From what I was able to tell, they're military contractors—former CIA—and if they don't know who ordered it, then they might have a connection to someone who does know. _

_The cashier's check is for you. Put it to good use. Maybe you'll find out who ran Alec and Marni off the road._

_Good luck. I hope you find what you're looking for._

_Suzanna_

_(Tell Fiona and Sam I said goodbye.)_

He looked up. "Where is she?" he demanded of Fiona, fear in his eyes. Coldness settled in the pit of his stomach; his adrenaline kicked in, the way it did before a fight.

"She said she was getting ready for work," said Fiona in confusion. "Why? What's wrong?"

Michael whirled and yanked opened the drawer behind him. It was empty.

He ran for the door, shouting over his shoulder, "The Glock's gone. Fiona, go check her apartment. Sam, try the club and the north side of the building. I'll take the south and canal side. Find her!"

He took the stairs in two jumps and sprinted out the gate. As he ran along the building, his mind replayed Suzanna's last words to him: _Maybe it's you who doesn't understand…I'm dead already._ He rounded the corner onto the walkway along the canal, slowing when he saw the figure sitting on the railing, staring across the canal at the setting sun. Moving more carefully, his stomach roiling, he approached to within about twenty feet, stopping when Suzanna turned her head toward him.

"That's far enough, Michael. Don't come any closer." She shifted her grip on the railing and brought the Glock up out of her lap, where it was resting.

"Suzanna, give me the gun," he said tensely. "We can go somewhere and talk about this." He felt rather than heard Fiona move up next to him, and then Sam appeared around the far corner to block the north side.

She ignored him and looked back out over the canal, her voice barely audible. "It finally hit me when I was working on the hack that it really is all gone…everything I had, everything I was…everything."

The dock was silent except for the wind rattling the palms.

She gazed at him again, unshed tears glittering in the golden light. "We're a lot alike, Michael…you and I. We're experts at what we do; we're a little arrogant and so sure we're right. And my arrogance killed the only people I let get close to me." She paused, flicking a glance at Fiona before turning again to the water. "Don't let it happen to you."

And as Michael lunged across the gap between them, in one smooth motion she closed her eyes and raised the Glock under her chin.

Leaned toward the water below.

And pulled the trigger.


End file.
